Any Means
by The Gray Maze
Summary: Yamato puts Hiro on early morning clean up. A darker take on a Merit Path prelude. Implied slash. DeSu2, One-shot
**A/N:** I wanted to write something a bit dark to vent a little. This is a Hiro on the Meritocracy Path, so we're clear, though he's darker than I generally imagine him, regardless of route. It's fanfic though, so it's okay. I see far stranger characterizations of various characters all over the site. Also, **implied slash warning here~** Yamato/Hiro-ish, just a pinch. Cheers.

 **Any Means**

In the weak sunlight filtered through filthy windows, Hiro picked his way through a room full of bodies. He was mindful of each step, careful not to dirty his shoes with evidence of the morning's activities. The others wouldn't get it—they were good kids with optimistic heads on their shoulders. Io would probably cry if she saw him now. Daichi would sick up. The others would be disappointed, well… maybe not Keita. The boxer was bloodthirsty and might even know the meaning of discretion. But this mission was his. Yamato made no mention of the others when he gave the order to _clean up_ and Hiro wasn't about to drag anyone else into it. Not his best friend. Not sweet Io.

"Y-you…"

Red stained fingers clawed at the floor. Hiro followed the arm up to the hazy eyes of their owner, dispassionate.

"It's not like I enjoyed it," he said nonchalantly.

He put an icicle through the man's head. There. It would look like a demon did it, right? He dodged the creeping red puddle.

His phone rang and he answered, knowing very well who it was.

"Where are you now?" Yamato demanded.

"On my way back," Hiro answered. "Did I take too long?"

"No," the chief denied. "I was merely checking in."

"Ah, worried for my health?" Hiro teased. "Or that I'd be caught?"

"I do not doubt your abilities in the slightest, at this point," was the succinct response.

"Just wanted to hear my voice?" Hiro pressed. "Well I don't blame you. I'd be a hypocrite otherwise, right?"

There was a pause. "Pardon?"

Hiro sighed as silently as possible as he sank into a chair. He inspected the soles of his shoes for gore and found only a few splatters. Ignorable for now. His coat was, of course, pristine. It wouldn't do to let his friends see him bloodied. They would worry, thoughts first on the idea that he'd been injured somehow.

"I was teasing you, Yamato, my bad."

He was actually flirting, but the JP's chief was a little… ignorant of such social nuances. No need to push his luck there by explaining it. Especially not over the phone.

"Return as soon as possible and get some rest," Yamato ordered.

His watch said it was hitting five am. If he hurried back he could catch a little more sleep before everyone barged into his room as usual.

"Yessir," he replied.

The line went dead. Hiro snapped his phone shut and tucked it away. Yeah, he did need a little power nap. There was so little sleep to be gotten lately what with aliens and demons and rioters. Hiro cast his eyes over the corpses strewn about the room and stood to leave. He hadn't enjoyed it, no, but if these people were so weak that they couldn't survive without leeching off of the people actually fighting… why let them burden those busy striving to save the world? All they did was sit in the park whining about the government. Boring. Useless. A world in the midst of a massive collapse had no room for lazy cowards or the bleeding hearts that coddled them.

He slipped down back alleys and ducked out of sight of man and beast alike on his way back to base. Clean up. Do not be seen. Do not get caught. Those were his directives. This was the second time. Hiro wondered if this was the start of a new morning routine. Yamato sure could keep him up all night. And everyone wondered why he wasn't a morning person. He slipped into Yamato's office without even bothering to knock.

"They already ate all the food they stole," he said after shutting the door.

The platinum haired chief looked up from his papers. Cold, pale eyes surveyed him with frightening intensity, likely taking in his lack of wounds or soiled clothing. They narrowed in satisfaction briefly before a sneer slashed across his handsome face.

"Gluttonous swine," he hissed quietly. "Of course they did."

Hiro merely tipped his head in response. Yamato settled down.

"Regardless, good work," Yamato praised. "The fewer distractions we have today, the smoother our plans will run. Losing yet more supplies is not a crippling blow, though it is inconvenient."

Hiro did not apologize for _not making it in time_ or any other nonsense. They likely ate everything the moment they got back to that broken apartment. That and Yamato hated pointless apologies or excuses. He waited patiently for another directive or for a dismissal. He didn't expect Yamato to stand and walk up to him. Close. His heartbeat picked up just a little and he breathed discrete calming breaths.

"This may yet become a routine operation," Yamato told him. "It is regrettable that I must cut into your resting time. You are, however, the one I would trust most with this manner of work."

Hiro inclined his chin in understanding. He tried to ignore the close proximity. He had to be calm and unperturbed, have a good casual confidence. Don't break character, much. Yamato knew what the others didn't. His hands were red, metaphorically speaking.

"I don't mind," he claimed in response. "It helps everyone focus more on the Septentrions and demons if the looters are out of the way."

"To have someone able to understand it like so," Yamato murmured. "How favorable."

The chief spun around and returned to his desk. The air pressure seemed to return to normal around him and he was able to collect his bearings.

"Get some rest," Yamato ordered. "Losing _you_ would be debilitating, so be sure to gather yourself before the day's events."

"You too then, chief," he cheekily replied.

"Hmph! Just who do you think you are speaking to?" Yamato haughtily demanded. "Dismissed!"

"Going, going," he conceded.

He shut the office door behind him and came to face several agents mulling about the hallway. They avoided his gaze when he glanced at them. Did they suspect? Did they know? Did clearance even matter anymore? He swept by them without a word, set on falling back into his little bed in his dorm. His instructions were: rest! The cycle of fighting and planning and fretting would begin a new in mere hours. Another day, another struggle to survive by any means available. The strong would pull through, the weak would perish. A primitive system. A natural system.

He stopped in the hallway between two doors. The left, Io's. The right, Daichi's. His face softened at the thought of them.

They weren't weak, but they weren't confident yet. They didn't lack resolve, but they didn't know how to express it. They fought long and hard everyday and maintained their morals. It was better for them all that the rioters were diminished before the day began. Neither Daichi nor Io would have to stain their hands and hearts over a desperate confrontation on the streets.

In a way they were stronger than him, he mused. They deserved to see things through and find a way in this forsaken world.

"Leave it to me," he whispered.

He would see them all through it, hell or high water or alien invasion. It didn't matter what he had to do to get them there, to that mysterious future that justified his methods. He would carry them there, by any means necessary.


End file.
